Disclaimer: None of this is mine, so far.

CHAPTER ONE

Life was perfect. I leaned back against a tree and shut my eyes, savoring the moment. Soon my brother and I would meet with the author of an anonymous and troubling note and deal accordingly with the problem we would encounter, and I had just escaped from a tense situation behind me where my father, Lord Denethor, was in an especially foul temper. Neither of these situations could possibly turn out well, but I managed to shut them out of my mind as I took on a more carefree attitude than usual.

The fire crackled beside me, fighting the chill of the night air and drying my feet, which were damp from my fishing excursion with Boromir, who seemed at this moment remarkably quiet. The sharp sound of metal grinding against rock caught my attention, and I had to smile. Perhaps he wasn't content to be silent, after all.

The rhythmic scrape of the sword being sharpened was the only unnatural sound, so I felt somewhat secure, or at least as secure as any ranger can possibly feel. "Boromir, you have first watch," I mumbled as I dropped off to sleep.

My dreams that might were strange and disturbing. The first sensation I had was one of movement, as if I was floating along. Then sounds and smells around me told me that I was going through a crowd- a crowd that was calling my name.

So I lay back, unable to open my eyes, but I already knew that I was in Minas Tirith. There was no mistaking the slightly salty breeze blowing off the nearby sea, or the old feel of the city with its history that ran deep, though everything seemed to have taken on a darker tone. I especially noticed this because of the mourning that constrained the voices of the people around me. I tried to respond to them; tried to reassure them that I was all right, but no matter how hard I strained, I could not answer.

I felt my feet tilt up and could hear the sound of boots sharply striking marble stairs as they marched up solemnly. That probably meant that my body was being borne on some kind of bier. By the time I realized this, I had reached the top of the stairs and was carried into a room with its large, heavy doors swinging open before me. I heard then the light, cultured voice of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, which was then tainted with grief and weariness. "Your son has returned, my lord, after great deeds." He was obviously talking to my father, steward of Minas Tirith, although he would never believe me capable of 'great deeds', no matter who said it. "We found him stricken on the field after he was hit by one of the darts of the Easterlings..."

Dead? I panicked, and I felt my breath come in short gasps. Then I forced myself to relax my tense muscles. This had to be a dream. I needed to force my way to consciousness. Deep breaths. Imrahil's voice faded into the distance, and I opened my eyes. Bright light instantly overwhelmed my vision, and I moaned from the pain, shutting them again.

"Did you have a good rest, little brother?"

"Yes. Why didn't you wake me?"

"You seemed to be in a deeper sleep than usual, so I let you have your rest." He handed me a plate of leftover fish. "Breakfast:" he said cheerily, "the most important meal of the day. Eat up." I chewed it in a thoughtful silence, which he soon could not stand. "Read me that letter again," he commanded.

I sighed, carefully setting down my meal, and read,

"'To Faramir, Ranger of Ithilien,

It has been many years since we met; however I must meet with you now in the greatest of haste and alone. I will ride as quickly as possible to Cair Andros, the long isle on the Great River, where I hope to find you waiting. Please come. If you do not, you will find that many will die like your mother, Finduilas, whose portrait now hangs over your bed in remembrance.

Yours in haste.

P.S. If you are in Minas Tirith when you receive this, Boromir will undoubtedly wish to accompany you in case of danger, in spite of the fact that I wish to meet with you alone. I would assure you that such protection is unnecessary, but I do accept the fact that he will come anyway.'

And that's it."

Boromir frowned. "I suppose he was trying to make it a point that his is trusted enough to have been inside your chambers at some point- how else would know of our mother's portrait above your bed- but I hardly see the point of the comparison between her death and the possible deaths of others."

"He could be stressing that people may die prematurely and unnecessarily."

"Possibly. But is he trying to threaten you into coming? Or is he really just acting concerned? It could be taken either way."

I had, of course, thought of that, but since I had no idea who was sending it, I didn't know what to make of it, so I shrugged helplessly. "I suppose we will have to wait until he- or they- returns to find out."

He threw down his breakfast in disgust, in a sudden temperamental fit. "Waiting. Why must we wait for the author of this note when he himself urged you to haste?"

I shook my head uncertainly. "We may have to wait to find out that as well."